


Deep In The Night

by StellarLibraryLady



Series: Stories from the Cupboard [9]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Explicit Language, Friendship, Gen, Grief, Learning to trust, Light Angst, Sympathy, Trust, grieving process
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 15:30:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10128734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarLibraryLady/pseuds/StellarLibraryLady
Summary: Sympathy is universal, as two former enemies learn.  Two soldiers, one German and one American, try to help each other through the grieving process in postwar Europe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Forced to work together rehabilitating civilians in postwar Europe, two former enemies first had to learn how to get along together. Part of that process is learning the plight of the other person and helping that person face his life challenges.

Bryant awoke deep in the night. Where in the hell was he? Even without much light in the room, he knew this room wasn’t his quarters. He knew he’d been drinking the evening before, but had he gotten drunk enough to wander into another person's quarters? He looked down and blinked in amazement. And had he brought his cot and bedding with him? How drunk had he gotten?

Then he remembered. He was in Hoffman’s quarters in the American Army camp in southwest Germany, and he realized why he’d awakened. He thought he’d heard a noise coming from Hoffman. 

There it was again. A moan? A sob? Shit, better check it out. He was here to take care of Hoffman, after all. Bryant tossed his blanket aside and stood. Whoa, he thought, and shook his head. I shouldn’t have had that last beer. He grinned. I shouldn’t have had that last six beers. He was definitely feeling the effects of the evening’s activities with Collie and Manny. But that was past history. Now he needed to see if he could help Hoffman. And that was odd. Last year he would not have believed that he and a German soldier would be any sort of allies. Theirs was a reluctant association brought on by the war. They were trying to rehabilitate German civilians now that the war was over.

Still half drunk, he stumbled across the shadowy room. Although it was warm weather, it felt odd to be wandering around clothed only in a tee shirt and shorts. Good old G.I. gear, he thought with a grin. Nothing fancy. Just like him. General Issue. 

Then he lost his grin and sobered as he looked down at Hoffman.

The German lay on his back on his cot. His eyes were wide open, and he was staring straight at the ceiling. Bryant could tell he was grieving by the tears glistening on his face. Hoffman seemed unaware of Bryant’s presence.

Then Bryant must have made some noise or Hoffman became aware of something beside him. He glanced up at Bryant in his underclothes shimmering white in the dim light and almost recoiled. Bryant probably looked like a specter. Then he recognized Bryant and turned his face away. 

Bryant knelt beside the cot on his knees spread apart for balance. He was still trying to wake up and focus. “What’s wrong?“ he mumbled.

“Nothing,” Hoffman mumbled back. “Go back to bed.”

“Now, I know there’s something wrong. You‘re awake when you should be asleep. Are you upset? Of course, you‘re upset, terribly upset,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything I can get you?” he asked gently. 

Hoffman shook his head. “Nein,” he muttered. “I did not mean to awaken you. You need your sleep. You look unwell.”

“I’m just a little woozy, ‘cause it’s the middle of the night. And I’m stumbling around like a disoriented bat. But that’s nothing compared to your problems.”

“I am sorry I disturbed you. I guess a grown man should not cry.”

“For just this once, forget your damned German stoicism, will you? You have the right to grieve.” He struggled to clear his head. “How can I bring you some relief?”

“There is nothing. You are here. That is enough.”

“How can I take your mind off things? I know, we could play some cards,“ he said cheerfully. “I have this great deck that this real nice guy gave me for Christmas.”

Hoffman simply shook his head.

Bryant felt helpless, so he did the only thing that he thought might give the other man some comfort. He placed his hand on Hoffman’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m here for you,” he murmured.

Hoffman turned his body to the wall, away from Bryant, and left Bryant‘s hand dangling in empty air. But that did not deter Alex. Some psychic sense told him that Hoffman wanted Alex’s sympathy even though he had turned away. Besides, rejection hurt. “Don’t shut me out, Hans Deiter,” he pleaded. “I can take anything, but that. Let me help you. Let me sympathize with you. Let me touch you. Please.”

Outside of accidentally brushing past someone, Hoffman realized that he had not truly touched or been touched by anyone for months. One of the few people had been Bryant, and there had been several instances of the contact: Bryant holding him down in the mud to avoid getting shot, Bryant shoving him away from the angry villagers, Bryant throwing his arm around Hans when he tried to convince him to play Santa Claus. It had been Bryant, always Bryant. And it was Bryant who was with him now. Bryant who was offering him the touch of another human being. 

Suddenly, Hoffman realized how starved he was for the simple satisfaction of tactile gratification. How could Bryant be that perceptive of Hoffman’s need when he was generally so roughshod? Empathy was not one of Bryant’s talents.

True, Bryant had been drinking. It had been the odor of his body that had broken through Hoffman’s deep reverie of grief and self-pity. It was Bryant’s smell that had made Hoffman look up to see a ghostly presence looming over him.

Men sometimes got sentimental when they were drinking. Bryant, apparently, was one of them. And it appeared that Hoffman was going to be the recipient of Bryant’s sentiment. All he had to do was allow Bryant to try to alleviate some of his sorrow. Could that be so bad? Bryant’s heart, finally and at long last, was in the right place. He meant well. All Hoffman had to do was to be accepting of a simple act of charity. It seemed so natural. It might even help.

Bryant sensed a change in the other man. Bryant tried again. Hoffman allowed him to place his hand on his shoulder. 

Hoffman almost regretted the liberty because Bryant’s odor was quite pronounced the closer Bryant got. “You are drunk, Lieutenant. I can smell you.”

“Sorry. I met up with Collie and Manny. We had a few.”

Hoffman shifted. “A few dozen, you mean.” He had meant to be sarcastic, but he could tell that Bryant thought his remark was funny. 

Bryant’s self-conscious grin was lopsided. “Probably.” He wiped the grin off his face. “Now, can you tell me what is wrong with you?”

Hoffman considered whether it would do much good talking to a drunk. Captain Davis had given up once with Bryant, and he had been a strong man. 

On the other hand, Hoffman was indignant at Bryant’s behavior when he knew he had no right to be. Bryant owed him nothing.

Oh, yes, he did. Bryant had promised.

“You said you would be back.” Hoffman could hear the whining accusation in his own voice. He hated sounding like a fishwife, but he could not help it. He felt slighted. 

Bryant grinned, threw his arms out, and fought to keep his balance. “Here I am!” 

“I guess I thought you meant you would be right back.”

Bryant frowned. “Is that the trouble? Is that why you’re crying?” His frown deepened as he settled his hand on Hoffman‘s shoulder again. “I can make you cry by not showing up?”

“How could you? That would indicate that you mean something to me.“

“Don’t I?”

“According to your rules, Lieutenant, no.”

“How about according to your rules?”

Hoffman pulled more away. “I told you, I grieve for my family.”

“No. It’s more than that. I do mean something to you, and I disappointed you. I’m sorry.” He leaned closer. “I am so terribly sorry. I was a jerk.”

Hoffman closed his eyes against the smell and the words. He could almost believe him. But this was not the real Bryant talking, it was just the sentimental drunk.

“Here you were needing help,” Bryant was continuing, “and the one person you thought you could count on didn‘t keep his promise. I wasn‘t here when you first received the news about your family, and then tonight I was slow returning when I promised I‘d return.”

Slow? Hoffman wanted to ask, but he knew his voice would sound too bitter.

“I’m even the one responsible for your getting the letter, at all!”

Hoffman knew he had to correct that. Bryant had tried to do him a kindness. “Now, you mustn’t worry yourself about that. You were being very thoughtful.”

“I hope you realize my intentions were good.” Bryant’s voice sounded closer. 

“I do.” Despite the odor, which he was growing accustomed to, Hoffman liked knowing that Bryant was close to him. It helped ease the hurt inside. Hoffman realized that it was helping a lot to have Bryant touching him, too. It felt so good. In fact he wouldn’t push Bryant away if he came closer yet.

Even though Hoffman had pulled away from him at first, Bryant sensed that more contact would be welcomed now. He wanted to embrace Hoffman. By embracing the grieving man, he would give Hoffman the human contact that Bryant knew he was hungering for. 

Bryant wrapped his arms around Hoffman and pressed his chest firmly against Hoffman’s back in a hug. “I am so terribly sorry,” he said softly into Hoffman’s ear and closed his eyes. The contact was comforting to him, too.

“I know,” Hoffman whispered back in a choking voice. “It is that my family meant so much to me, and now they are destroyed.”

“I know.”

“I feel so helpless, so useless. I am a man. I am supposed to care for my family, not lie here in a puddle of weakness and inactivity.”

“You are still a good and caring man. These are overwhelming odds that you are up against. It would daunt anybody. But I am here now. I‘ll help you however I can.” He felt Hoffman twist away from him. “What’s wrong? Should I stop comforting you?”

“Nein, nein,” the German protested. “It is just that I am so, so--“

“Exposed? Open? Defenseless? Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He settled his arms around Hoffman again. “Trust me. I want you to feel better.”

Hoffman relaxed and molded himself to the circle of Bryant‘s arms. “I should not give in to my sorrow. A man should not do that. A man should be strong and keep on fighting.”

“Sometimes we have to take a breather before we can do that. It doesn’t mean you are any less a man. Don’t be afraid of your grief. It’s not a weakness.“ He patted Hoffman’s arm, then stroked it. Hoffman relaxed under him. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Hans Deiter. I‘ll do anything for you. Anything. You are important to me,” he murmured in Hoffman’s ear. His hand rubbed Hans’s chest, then rested near his neck. 

Hoffman took the hand and laid it against his face wet with tears. “Thank Gott for you,” he murmured. “You are a good man.”

Bryant’s muscles tightened.

“What is wrong? Do you not believe that you are a good man?”

“I don’t trust it. People always want something from me when they say that.”

“But do you not see? You have already given me something. You are giving me companionship and comfort. You have let me be a part of your life since I met you.”

“I didn’t intend for that to happen, you know. I fought it.”

“I know. But still it happened.”

“We’ve had us some good times, Hans Deiter.”

“Ja. We have.”

“We’ve known some good people. The Captain was the best.”

“Ya, that he was.”

“He shouldn’t have died like that, you know? He and I went through some bad battles and lived to hash them all over again over a stein of beer or a bottle of wine. How could he have just stepped on a shell that wasn’t supposed to be there and blow himself out of our lives?”

Hoffman heard the catch in Bryant’s voice. He rotated in the circle of Bryant’s arms, turned on his back, and looked up at Bryant’s grieving face in the semi-shadows. 

“Have you cried for the Captain?” he asked softly.

Bryant shook his head. “There’s a shell around my grief that I can’t break.”

“I know. But it is more than a shell. It is also a prison keeping you inside. You need to crack it.”

Bryant frowned, and faint tears glistened in his eyes. 

“Cry now.”

Bryant got a wild, uncertain look on his face. More than anything, he seemed to be a little boy lost in his grief. He wanted relief, but he felt too naked. He turned away.

But Hoffman was persistent. “If I am allowed to have my grief and to express it, then so are you. Nobody will criticize you. Nobody will think you are any less a man. Trust me, Bryant. Let me do all the things for you that you offered to do for me.” He rubbed Bryant’s forearm. “Let me be a friend, too. You said you would do anything for me. Do this. Trust me enough to let me put my arms around you and comfort you. Let me protect you for once. It would mean so much to me if you would do that. That is what you can do for me. It is not something light. Surrendering all of your defenses to me will be difficult. But in giving up something, you will gain everything. You will at last have some peace.” 

Bryant turned back to Hoffman. His face was torn with anguish and he still seemed uncertain, but he so wanted to do what was being asked of him. His eyes were yearning for the promise of comfort. “I don’t usually let this much of myself go.”

“I know. It is difficult to do, I know. But look whose arms are around me. Do you think that I would ordinarily let a man hold me, even if I was grieving? But I have faith in you, and I want you to feel the same way about me. It will take a lot of faith for you to do this.” Hoffman pushed Alex’s arms aside and held his own arms up. “No one else will ever know. And what would they say? We have a great grief, you and I. They will be happy if we find comfort in each other. Come. Come to me. Let me help you.”

With a sigh Bryant settled against Hoffman’s chest, and Hoffman’s arms closed around him. Bryant sighed again. “This feels so good.”

“I am glad,” Hoffman murmured.

“I could never have done this with George Davis, and now I wish I had.” Bryant lifted his head toward Hoffman’s shadowy face. “There‘s nothing wrong with two guys expressing mutual concern or compassion to each other, is there?”

“Not a thing,” Hoffman reassured him as he rubbed Alex‘s back.

Bryant lowered his head. “I loved him so much. I never got a chance to tell him how much. I could only say it when I was drunk. I thought I had years to show him the depth of my affection. I thought I didn‘t have to say it. I thought he would just know. God, I miss him,” he whispered as he snuggled his face into Hoffman‘s neck.

“I know. He was your good friend. The pain of his passing will never go away, but someday it will not be as harsh as it is. Now it is so fresh that you can barely breathe. You think of something else for a moment, and then your thoughts are back on him. And you see him, or the lack of him, everywhere. The whole world haunts you.”

A shudder tore through Bryant’s body, and his breath caught. “Oh, Christ, yes!“ 

“Cry, my friend, cry, before it kills you if you do not.”

That tore down the last of Bryant’s defenses. Huge, wracking sobs were wrenched from him. At one point shame caught him and he would have bolted, but Hoffman held him fast. Bryant’s hands kneaded Hoffman’s tee shirt, and he wailed his misery in Hoffman‘s ear. But still Hoffman did not release him. And then Bryant didn‘t want to leave anymore. He clung to Hoffman. He had found his sanctuary.

Hoffman rubbed his hands over Bryant’s back. “Ja, ja, that is good. Grieve, my friend, grieve.” He pulled his blanket and sheet over Bryant. The night had grown chilly, and Hoffman wanted to protect Bryant from that, too.

 

When Bryant had cried himself into exhaustion, he lay crushed and not moving on Hoffman’s chest.

“Better?” Hoffman finally asked and stroked the hair out of Bryant‘s face.

“Yes. I feel numb. Empty. Hollow.” He raised his head. “Is that how you cried last night?” The morning light was just starting to seep into Hoffman’s quarters, and Bryant could see more of Hoffman‘s face.

“Ja, the first time last night.”

“The first time?”

“Before I ate supper.” Hoffman smiled. “The second time I wept, I was just plain feeling sorry for myself. You had promised to return.”

“I’m sorry.”

“The promise wasn’t the whole bad thing. I believed you.”

“I’m doubly sorry.” He studied Hoffman’s face. “How could I have done that to you?”

“Instead of how, you ought to asking yourself why. Or why it hurt me so much? It could only bother me so much because it was you who had done it.”

“It’s the thing I tried to keep from happening, but it has happened. And I am glad.” 

“So am I. Now, let me up so I can change this wet tee shirt. You must not have any liquid left in you. Then you need to go back to your own bed and rest. It is nearly morning. We both need to sleep.”

 

Bryant awoke to find himself under the covers of his own cot. He glanced across the room filling with early morning light to where Hoffman lay asleep. The other man’s gentle breathing filled that area as if he had been doing nothing else all night but sleep. Bryant frowned. Had it all been just a dream? But it had seemed so real.

On the other side of the room Hoffman, who had only been pretending the even breathing, listened as Bryant gradually quieted into sleep again.

It was better to pretend that tonight had never happened. Let Bryant think it was only a drunken dream. Hoffman would know the truth about their relationship and would rejoice in the knowing. He did not know if Bryant would be as happy about it.

**Author's Note:**

> An excerpt from "Third Man In The Ring"


End file.
